Hannah Jones: A week Monday is perfect start to a happy New Year!

SPEND less, exercise more (or rather, exercise some), give up carbs, quash insecurity, audition for Pointless, chuck out doubt, talk with my mouth full only of air and realise, finally, that the greatest love of all is inside of me.

SPEND less, exercise more (or rather, exercise some), give up carbs, quash insecurity, audition for Pointless, chuck out doubt, talk with my mouth full only of air and realise, finally, that the greatest love of all is inside of me.

Thanks Whitney Houston, wise words indeed. (But we all know what happened to you back in March. Enough said.)

As this year tumbles into the next, I’ve decided to make a resolution not to make any. Resolutions that is.

Besides, January 1 falls on a Tuesday and as anyone who has ever given up something in order to fatten up their sense of wellbeing will tell you, abstinence or Any Big Change (from now on cunningly referred to as ABC) always has to start on a Monday.

By that logic – go on, ask anyone who’s ditched cigarettes/slothing/swallowing after chewing who’ll definitely back me up – I should have started to unravel my resolve either on Christmas Eve or do it this coming New Year’s Eve.

Christmas Eve was a no-go though because there was nothing on telly aside from posh, tuneless Carols From Kings and I like my services with a smile or at least a jingle bell rock.

So bearing that in mind, and a cupboard full of nuts, chocolate orange(s), my father’s pickled onions, cheesy bread and boiled ham without any red bits in, all my good intentions about re-learning my ABCs were safely stored away until the following Monday.

Which is, as I’ve just said because the Mayans got it spectacularly wrong, New Year’s Eve.

But because I know even gutsy, vinegar-adoring me wouldn’t have scoffed all the pickles by then and I imagine I’ll still be picking cashew casings out of my teeth/carpet/husband’s hair come the start of next week, I doubt Monday will be the brand spanking new day of New Me-ness after all.

Besides, if Ade Edmondson is on Jool’s Annual Hootenanny shouting “Hootenanny!” in that stupid Vyvyan from The Young Ones voice of his whenever that ridiculous term is bandied about like some poor man’s Crackerjack (DO. NOT. SAY. IT!), you’ll forgive me for having other things on my mind.

I’ll be too busy being irritated and bored to be virtuous. I’m sure you’ll understand.

One word: Hootenanny!

At this time of year, I need distraction not self-flagellation.

If that doesn’t come in the form of something interesting on telly after I’ve already killed time by filling in my new diary, it inevitably comes in that good old fashioned failsafe notion of procrastination.

In other words, put off getting it wrong again until the following Monday as by then you’ll be paving over the cracks with another week’s worth of mistakes.

Helen Fielding got it bang on in Bridget Jones’s Diary.

She wrote: “I do think New Year’s resolutions can’t technically be expected to begin on New Year’s Day, don’t you?

“Since, because it’s an extension of New Year’s Eve, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system.

“Also dieting on New Year’s Day isn’t a good idea as you can’t eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover.

“I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second.”

I’ll second that, because Midsomer Murders is back at 8pm on ITV (hooray!) and the cheesy rolls will have gone hard (gutted).

So here’s to a flawed, frantic, critical, unimaginative New Year to you all.

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